Voiceless
by Debesmanna
Summary: The darker side of Toy Story: a teddy bear is a still and silent witness, and she sees more than just playtime. Behind closed doors, she watches the children that she loves grow from Seimei and Ritsuka into Beloved and Loveless. Childhood doesn't mean innocence any more than family means love. Warnings include but are not limited to child abuse and possible disturbing images.
1. Ageless

A/N: This fic was inspired by Toy Story. I went to see the third movie in theatres just after reading a Loveless fanfic, so during the movie I idly thought: "What would the toys of abused children witness while immobile in their rooms?" This is the story of the lives of two boys as told by the teddy bear who loves them. I've cautiously rated it T, but as this is a Loveless fic, be prepared for child abuse and other depressing things. I'll give more specific warnings as needed in future chapters. Be warned that I don't really have a plan for this, so updates will be slow. Feedback is appreciated.

Chapter 1: Ageless

Chiyo-chan is a poor child's teddy bear. She was lovingly hand-sewn long ago by somebody's grandmother, who had grown too old and too sick to do much more in a day than move from her bed to her rocking chair out on the porch. Quiet days slid in and out of focus beneath ancient trees as a teddy bear came into existence out of scraps of old fabric from the bottom of Grandmother's sewing basket. The bear has little memory of her formative days, just an impression of leaves in the wind, calloused and gentle old hands, the rocking chair, and the sounds of her first child at play.

With two button eyes, one black and one blue, she watched over the little girl who first taught her the devotion with which a child could love a toy. It was so long ago, and the teddy bear was so young that the memories retain little substance. But the feelings remain.

The first child is always the hardest to let go. A toy too is heartbroken by the loss of her first love. Afterward there were children, grandchildren, even great-grandchildren, but none loved the teddy bear like her first, and so her lonely days blended together like the shadows of so many leaves.

The day of the garage sale is no different. She lays in inanimate stillness on the table and feels no sadness. Children just don't love their teddies like they used to, so what does it matter if she stays here or goes away with a business man to be the souvenir of his child halfway around the world?

But when the business man places her into the arms of a little boy with black hair and violet eyes that gaze upon her in wide-eyed wonder and adoration, she falls instantly in love all over again.

"Isn't it wonderful, Seimei? Your daddy brought this all the way from America just for you! What do you say?"

Seimei smiles brilliantly up at his father. "Thank you so much daddy!"

The man ruffles his son's hair. "What are you going to name it?"

The child frowns in deep thought, two human eyes staring into two button ones, until after a full minute he nods in absolute certainty.

"Her name is Chiyo-chan."

And Chiyo-chan knows that she has finally come home.


	2. Childless

Chapter 2: Childless

Lazy afternoon sunshine mutes the angles and bleaches the colors of Seimei's little bedroom. Toy trains and cars and blocks and spinning tops stir in semi-sentient restlessness atop their shelves and scattered about the floor. They communicate amongst themselves in their own wordless way. A little blue and red spinning top rocks from side to side to catch Chiyo's eye, then makes a questioning peep. Is she alright up on the bed all alone? She smiles in return, and it chirps happily before launching itself at a small tower of blocks. It giggles as the blocks titter in annoyance and begin to rebuild themselves. Chiyo sighs in indulgent amusement. The top is sweet in its own way and she is glad of the company of other toys, but toys without faces obtain little awareness beyond their specific playtime purposes. A top, however well intentioned, has little to say to a teddy bear.

THWACK. Sound hits the room like a wave against a boat. The toys are rocked from their play, scattering to the positions in which their child left them. They ponder the sound. THWACK. It hits again. The bedroom vibrates with listening stillness. CRASH. A cry. Loud voices. It comes from down the stairs in the kitchen, and doesn't move closer. The toys inch from their places. The screaming oscillates in pitch but not position, so they return to their busy rolling and stacking and spinning.

Except for Chiyo. She has her ear pressed to the crack under the door, completely still.

She doesn't know what happens out there. Seimei hasn't once taken her out of his room since he first went to sleep holding her in his arms. No matter how intently she listens, the kitchen is too far away to make out words.

Angry feet travel to the bottom of the stairs and the shrieks of Seimei's mother become audible. "Go to your room, NOW!" Angry feet are followed up the stairs at double speed by little feet. The door slams open and Mother releases Seimei's wrist, flinging him into the room. "And DON'T come out."

Seimei stands in the silence of the closed door. All is still within his room, sunlight catching and holding every sharp edge save the hiccupping of his breath. His toys lay where he left them. He picks up a big white truck from its shelf in both hands, holds it at arm's length, and lets it go. As the voices of his parents continue to rise and disturb the still air, he systematically divests all of the shelves of their toys, dropping them one by one to the floor. Gingerly placing his feet around the wreckage, he makes his way to the bed and crawls up to sit in the corner where the bed meets the wall. He picks up Chiyo and holds her away from him in the same manner as all of the rest. She looks at him with button eyes that reflect his own.

He jumps, and she with him, as elsewhere the front door pounds its frame, leaving a woman's voice to shout at itself. He shifts until Chiyo sits in the hollow between his chest and folded legs. Her stitching strains beneath the arms around her, but she takes no notice. The top of her head is pressed to her boy's wet face, taking his tears, wishing she could take more.

"Mama lost another baby." He is still now. Only his lips move against the fabric. "I don't know how you'd lose a baby. They're loud." His legs slide flat. He pulls his head far enough away to frown into Chiyo's button eyes. "How come no one ever finds them?"

Keeping one arm around Chiyo, Seimei pulls his covers away and wriggles down into them. "Next baby," he says, "won't get lost. 'Cause you and me, we'll make sure to always watch it."

* * *

A/N: Got comments? Prompts? Typo corrections? 'Cause I'd love to hear them! If you leave me to my own devices, inspiration may be slow to come. Especially as I'd prefer to write this chronologically, but currently only have ideas about things that happen much later. But I'll do my best!


	3. Defenseless

Chapter 3: Defenseless

The daycare room, too bright in pastels, pens in dozens of little bodies with cat ears twitching in the din. The toys have seen the wars. Dolls, dirty and naked, stare at nothing as little girls feed them empty bottles in their high-chairs. Towers of unpainted blocks prop up makeshift tracks for cars to crash at the bottom. The children cluster by twos and threes. But Chiyo's child glares at anyone who comes close. He is planning for battle.

"This is the school," he tells Chiyo, and sets her in the middle of a fortress of blocks. The fortress is perfectly square, and about half Seimei's height. He has stolen all of the hand-sized dolls from the dollhouses. He arranges them in groups of four, two facing two, one of each pair in front shielding the other behind. "Then they fight," he says, and knocks down one pair out of every foursome. After resetting those left standing, he repeats the process until only four remain upright among the bloodless carnage of defeated dolls, with the giant, furry-tailed child looming above them all. "Now 'member, Chiyo-chan," he says, pointing a stern finger her, "You gotta win. 'Cause if you don't…" He brings his foot down, and there are only two. "Understand? 'Cause Daddy said so. Always win. When I'm big I get a fighter, and we'll always win."

Chiyo doesn't understand. She's known children who play soft and who play rough, ones who share, ones who spite; ones who play at war. But she doesn't understand why Father would teach Seimei to play like a general.

"Seimei-chan, your father's here to pick you up."

Seimei looks up, black ears twitch forward. He scoops the bear out from inside the fortress walls and runs, bobbling on his short legs, through the crowd.

"Did it get lost?"

Seimei's father smiles. It looks unnatural on his usually uninterested face.

"No, Seimei. He didn't get lost." He takes Seimei's hand and leads him from the noises and colors of childhood. "We're going to go meet him at the hospital, and then we'll take him and Mother home," he says as he buckles Seimei into his car seat. "You're the big brother now, Seimei. You'll look after him won't you?"

Seimei nods vigorously. When he smiles and hugs Chiyo tight, there's nothing unnatural about it.

* * *

The baby's eyes are like Seimei's eyes.

His name is Ritsuka, but Chiyo thinks "little Seimei" when she sees him. Seimei agrees. She knows it because the whole way home from the hospital he watched the baby, amazed, and now he whispers wonderingly, "Mine." His mother misunderstands, gently admonishes, "Now Seimei. The baby isn't a toy for you. Understand?"

Seimei nods, eyes wide and too big in his solemn child's face. "Not a toy," he repeats, inching closer to the crib, hardly blinking as he watches the baby shift restlessly in the tight swaddle of his blanket. His little fists, tangled, cannot complete their explorations. Seimei reaches out to pull the blanket back, but Mother catches his wrist.

"No Seimei. Don't touch." A little less gentle.

"Why?" He's pouting now, with a hint of a coming tantrum gathering underneath. For the first time he looks away from the baby and up to his mother.

"Babies are fragile—" she begins, but Seimei cuts her off.

"I won't hurt him!" He's not quite whining. It's just the frustration of not knowing the right words showing through.

His mother slaps him lightly on the side of the head, and her voice, like the flip of a switch, sharpens, abruptly raises in volume. "Don't whine, and don't interrupt," she says, and begins to pull him out of the room by the arm not holding Chiyo.

"But Mama! I'm the big brother! Daddy said so!"

She pulls his arm harder, shakes him a little. "You must always listen to your mother Seimei, understand? You are mine, you came from my body!" In the hallway she loses interest in reaching Seimei's room. Throws him at the wall. He catches himself and stands perfectly still, nothing at all in the shape of his large eyes and little mouth but a contempt that he himself cannot understand. Then, suddenly, she loses anger, like a woman possessed by the fickleness of a breeze, switching emotions as abruptly as it comes and goes. She coos at the boy, petting his hair and cat ears and his elbow where he hit the wall.

"Yes, yes you are. The big brother, my beautiful first." She leans in very close. "My beautiful boys, who came from my body…" Her stroking hands still, move to cup Seimei's blank face. "I'll keep you always. Both of you, I'll keep you always." She kisses Seimei softly on the mouth, and picks him up. He loses his grip on Chiyo and she drops soundlessly, lying on her side. She sees as they go, go through the dark doorway to the distant straight lines of the crib that stand perfectly straight, perfectly spaced apart.

"My perfect babies…"

Swaying from side to side, Mother pets the child in her arms as she gazes at the eyes which peer up at her out of the binding white blankets. Brother looks at brother, and Chiyo catches the whisper.

"I'll protect you."

* * *

A/N: ... I warned you at the beginning that this was going to be creepy, right? Right. Well, Seimei had to get it from somewhere. And it's going to get much worse.

Anyway, as always, sorry for the long delay. But I make no promises to improve my speed. Perhaps with your comments I could improve my quality? Just sayin' =)

~~~Debesmanna~~~


	4. Merciless

Chapter 4: Merciless

The fort in the living room glows from the inside, like a coal in a dying campfire.

"Forts are risky," Seimei informs Ritsuka. He speaks, as he always speaks, with the confidence of a sage. At seven years to his baby brother's two, his words are magical to Ritsuka in their power to explain a new and baffling world. Ritsuka sits in the middle of the floor, holding Chiyo as a temporary replacement for the arms of the brother who talks away his nightmares. He hiccups quietly, but his tears have stopped. As Seimei builds their shelter around him, Ritsuka never takes his solemn eyes from the big brother who always comes when he cries, who always lifts him from his crib and the terror of dreams which he can't yet describe.

Chiyo has only ever been a placeholder for living arms.

Seimei continues, "'Cause, see, Mother's bad enough. But Father's in America. And Mother's too drunk to wake up." He says this matter-of-factly. The sun rises in the east. Forts work best when the chairs face outward. Mother is passed out and won't catch them out of bed. Chiyo wonders how long he's known, when he's learned the words. Now, Ritsuka will always know. "So it's okay to have a fort tonight."

Seimei, Ritsuka, and Chiyo lie on sofa cushions surrounded by a circle of dining room chairs and gaze up at the medley of blankets and bedding that form their makeshift sky. A lantern sits on the floor by their heads, rescued from the hall closet. It never saw its destined campground—Father was working. Seimei called it forth to be their fire, but muted its cheer underneath a washcloth so that its reflection on their sky became the dim orange light and shadows of a cloudy night.

Seimei lies on his side curled around Ritsuka, who presses as close to him as he can with Chiyo in between them. She is completely enclosed like the yolk of an egg. They are very warm. Seimei whispers to Ritsuka, "Was it the dream?"

Ritsuka nods. His chubby baby fingers clutch Chiyo tighter. He replies, the fragments of his recently discovered speech imperfectly recreating his mind: "Saw buh-fly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Where was it?"

"Sad."

"Sad's not a place, Ritsuka."

Chiyo disagrees.

Ritsuka thinks hard for a moment. He tries again, "Paintin'."

"Closer. 'In a painting.'"

"In paintin'."

"What did it do?"

But whatever the butterfly had done, Ritsuka can't find the words. He starts to cry again, big unrestrained gasps of frustration and despair. Seimei strokes his spine and his hair soothingly. But he does not relent. Chiyo knows that he learned this from his father—Father does not allow Chiyo in the room with them when they train, but Seimei always recites his lessons to her when they're alone. Mercy is weakness. She has never seen him use his training on Ritsuka.

He asks, "Did it fly?"

Ritsuka, the object of Seimei's self-proclaimed absolute devotion, makes unintelligible noises through his desperate tears. He grabs at Seimei's pajama shirt and presses his face into it. Chiyo is squeezed out from between them. The eggshell cracks, and she, the most intimate friend of the boy who has already learned from his parents' example that words hurt as much as they heal, doubts him for the first time.

Seimei kisses Ritsuka softly until he quiets. He learned this from his mother.

This is the healer. Chiyo cannot weep, because she has buttons for eyes.

Seimei dries Ritsuka's face. He offers the hem of his shirt and commands "Blow."

The sound is too loud in the close air beneath their blanket sky. Outside the refrigerator hums. A forgotten cushion on the otherwise stripped sofa falls to the floor. Inside Seimei murmurs quiet, wordless comforts. "Shh, shh." In the circle of his arms Ritsuka sighs. His clutching fists relax. Dry and clean and calm in his brother's arms, Ritsuka watches the patterns of lantern-light and shadow. He refills his arms with ragged teddy-bear. Frowns at her. She has buttons for eyes, and so she doesn't cry. But he clumsily kisses her anyway.

"Did it fly?" Seimei repeats.

Ritsuka shifts his attention to his big brother, the subject of his adoration, and shakes his head no.

Seimei smiles. "Good."

* * *

A/N: If you're still with me after the year and a half that it took me to produce this chapter, then you're amazing and awesome and wonderful, and I'm so sorry to have made you wait! Probably you thought this story was abandoned, and it was. Sometimes you just lose your wordspells for awhile. But a recent bout of deep discontentment with my life has inspired me, so give thanks for small blessings, I guess. ;) So, this chapter was some sweet/disturbing Seimei and Ritsuka interaction. Also some symbolism and stuff. Maybe even plot! There's more to come, and I promise it won't take as long this time.

~~~Debesmanna~~~


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